


Golden Jubilee

by Schuldig



Category: Weiß Kreuz
Genre: Alternate Universe - Victorian, M/M, Victorian
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-10-30
Updated: 2011-10-30
Packaged: 2017-10-25 02:15:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/270618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Schuldig/pseuds/Schuldig
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Victorian steampunk AU. Brad Crawford is fresh out of Rosenkreuz and has strict orders to recruit an airship captain for a position at Eszet, an organisation who will surely destroy them both. This is for IndelicateInk (LJ) and my apologies for how long it's taken just to get the first chapter out. The rest will follow shortly, I hope.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Golden Jubilee

**Author's Note:**

  * For [indelicateink](https://archiveofourown.org/users/indelicateink/gifts).



"Of course I'm cross-dressed. I was rather angry whilst tying my cravat."

The doorman's mouth quirked into a smile as he unlocked the cast iron door to the basement underneath the Athenaeum, one of the finest establishments in London. "I see, sir. In that case, welcome to Club Eszet."

Brad Crawford relaxed a little, relieved that the dress code wasn't as compulsory as the invitation had hinted. Now to do his job.

He felt ill. Too bright, too loud and far more people than he'd ever seen in his life before. Brad scanned the room, his line of sight briefly stopping on the generator in the corner that still amazed him. It see-sawed between low rumbles and shrill hisses as steam was sent through the brass pipes, up through the Athenaeum's walls above them and into the atmosphere where it mixed with dense fog.

His eyes met those of Mr. Cecil, another club-goer. He had a whisky in his hand and a philosopher's beard. He was also wearing an aquamarine bustle dress paired with a fascinator of peacock feathers. Crawford recalled Mrs. Cecil wearing the same outfit at an Athenaeum function just last month.

Brad made his way to the bar slowly, taking in as many people's faces as he could, not entirely certain of what he was looking for. Gradually, even the sound of the string quartet in the centre of the room was tuned out like the rest of the background noise.

He glanced at the bar and, in that split-second, his gaze snapped onto a figure hunched over the bar counter. 'Slumped' would also be accurate, but this person was too poised to truly assume that description.

Long red hair with an angelic blue aura from where the gas lights hit the soft strands. Brad's eyes travelled down, taking in a loosely-laced green dark corset and the folds of emerald silk and black lace that fell almost to the floor.

He really wasn't sure.

At the bar, the figure played with a whisky glass, pushing it from silk-gloved hand to silk-gloved hand like a toy.

Either a woman who had flouted the dress code listed on the invitation or a stunningly beautiful man. Either option intrigued Brad. And then there was that job he had to do.

He'd almost forgotten why he was here.

"You know, that's a..." Brad swallowed, suddenly aware that not only was he already at the bar, but he was going to be mocked regardless of what he said. "...it's a nice dress. A very nice dress."

"I know," said the figure and returned to the glass.

Deep down, Brad Crawford hated rejection as much as anyone.

The figure turned back to him and smiled. "Thanks, for what it's worth."

Brad opened his mouth to say something witty that would start a conversation, like about how it was unusual that she was drinking whisky, because it was rare in London and really more common in America, which was where he was from.

"The name's Schuldig. If you were wondering, this isn't my usual attire."

"Ah!" He had thought so, he told himself, but that didn't really explain the grunt of surprise that had come from his mouth just then.

Brad turned to the bartender. "Whisky. Just whisky."

"Ice?"

"Just whisky."

Brad accepted his drink and tried not to stare too hard. He'd not expected it to be pale yellow.

"So what brings you to London? I can tell you travel a lot." Brad tried to think of a way he might naturally know this, something straight from the mind of Arthur Conan Doyle, perhaps. The dress was clearly new, probably expensive, but had no markings such as engine oil or splashes of exotic mud that would suggest Schuldig was from anywhere other than London.

"Observant, aren't you? Fantabuloso."

"Of course." Brad took a sip of whisky and tried not to grimace at the taste. Rosenkreuz had taught him history, geography and how to kill a man in over one hundred different ways, but not one lesson had even mentioned how to drink stuff like this. If only they'd included more than tying a cravat in their lessons on high society.

"Barman? You forgot the water," Schuldig said suddenly.

The barman dutifully added a splash of water, without a word. Brad took an experimental sip and mentally declared it vile-but-tolerable, a feeling he'd become accustomed to during his time at Rosenkreuz.

"You're so clever. You knew immediately that this dress was made in the Caribbean, didn't you?" Schuldig traced the rim of his glass with his forefinger and smiled. "The weave of the fabric makes it obvious and, were there any doubt, the quality of the stitching clinches it."

Brad adjusted his glasses to hide the sinking feeling in his stomach. "It's one of my specialities. Observation, I mean."

"Christ, ain'tcha adorable!"

A line of ice ran down Brad's back at that. Such blasphemy would never be allowed at Rosenkreuz. He'd be punished for this. He should probably do something, say something to distance himself. No, he told himself. He should be gaining this man's trust, not alienating him. What would Eszet want him to do?

"Rum next," Schuldig said to fill the silence. "Like in the Caribbean. I miss that place already."

***

Five rums later, Schuldig issued a proclamation to everyone within five feet of them. "Ashully, Braddo, I'm an empath!"

"Really?" said Brad, still sipping on his first whisky. "Not a particularly good one. I wouldn't imagine you're sensing more than a few strong emotions, and only because we're standing so close."

"Enough t' run rings around ya." Schuldig's fingers were white with the force at which he was clinging to the bar counter, yet he still looked remarkably unlikely to fall over. "But if that ain't enough t' impress ya, then le' me tell you. I'm a redhead all th' way down!"

Brad gulped and focused his thoughts on his mission.

"Running rings aroun' ya!" Schuldig pointed his gloved finger at Brad and let out a small laugh.

"We can make you even better." Brad indicated two gentlemen standing in the corner of the room with a nod of his head, which he felt excused his not looking Schuldig directly in the eye.

Schuldig regarded him with a grin on his face. "Oh, sure. I can barely get other people's emotions and hearing an actual thought is a rare treasure. But ya know what?" He leaned forward, expecting Brad to mirror him, and was quite correct. "At least I'm not a socially tone-deaf misfit with only the barest familiarity with all the pleasures the world has to offer."

What would Eszet want him to do? And my, Brad was impressed with the skill Schuldig had shown navigating that last sentence, despite his alleged drunkenness.

Schuldig turned his attention to the drink Brad was holding. "Down it."

And Brad did.

***

"This is Abdul Karim. Karim, Schuldig."

Schuldig shook hands with a tall man, who wore a white turban with gold trim. Unlike his companion, he had seen no need for a dress.

"John Dee," said the man in the Elizabethan gown.

"You mean the adviser to Queen El--"

Dee cut Schuldig off. "No, no. That was a completely different John Dee, I assure you."

"And this is the new guy?" asked Karim. "He's enjoying this far too much."

Brad shook his head to warn them, but only Schuldig seemed to notice.

"So you had that thing just lying around?" asked Dee, indicating Schuldig's ball gown.

"Yeah," said Schuldig amiably. He possessed the overly-enunciated consonants of a man who knew he was drunk and was trying to compensate. "I'm a merchant. If you'd asked me to dress in tea leaves or bottles of rum, I wouldn't have had any trouble with those, either. This is just one of many things I'm transporting now, made with the finest Indonesian silk"

Brad and Schuldig shared a smile at this obvious lie.

"So," began Karim. "About that personal matter with Queen Victoria..."

Brad looked at him and mouthed the word 'no'.

"A very personal matter, wasn't it?" chimed in Dee.

Brad looked from one man to the other, and his breathing became ragged. What were they doing? They were jeopardising his plan, that's what they were doing. He knew that all of them were technically rivals for the post of Queen Victoria's companion, but this was pure sabotage--

And then he realised that Schuldig was hanging on their every word. He stood, head held high, but with a smile on his face as he took in every sordid detail.

"Yes. The matter of who will be her companion in her time of need and guide her towards the things that need to be done."

"Just think of the possibilities when you’re the power behind the throne. And not just any throne, but the one belonging to the most powerful woman there has ever been," said John Dee.

Brad felt a stabbing pain in his gut. There were no individuals in Eszet, just pawns. If any of them were appointed to the court of Queen Victoria, then they would soon find themselves repeating whatever Eszet wanted them to say.

"What's the name of your organisation?" asked Schuldig.

Brad noted the confusion behind his question. Just as he had thought, Schuldig had picked up on the idea of an organisation being in charge, but hadn't successfully caught its name during his many internal monologues.

"Eszet."

"And they run this club?"

Brad nodded. "Both Club Eszet and The Athenaeum."

"And your goals?" Schuldig kept a steady voice, but his eyes kept darting around the room. They rested on the string quartet, on the well-stocked bar, and on the many oblivious party-goers. He was clearly impressed.

"To improve the world through technology!" Dee gesticulated wildly. "We'll fill the skies with airships and the oceans with steam liners! For the masses, electricity!"

"Nothing less than a second industrial revolution," finished Karim.

"What's in it for you?"

"Nothing--" Brad began, but Dee cut him off.

"Naturally, we are the only ones that understand these matters! We will control the electricity and steam power that everyone will come to depend on! The British Empire will be filled with the most educated, influential and powerful citizens in the world! And we will rule over them all!"

If looks could kill, Karim would have been guilty of Dee's murder.

"Sounds good. I'm in." Schuldig smiled.

Brad hadn't managed a full sentence for a good few minutes, but he allowed this moment to breathe and take it all in. This was what it was like from the other side. Of course, he'd been about seven years younger than Schuldig when it happened, he reminded himself. It was only natural that a child from the workhouse would have been fascinated by men in top hats, monocles and great bushy moustaches promising him he could have everything they did and more.

Well, he'd got those things now, minus the moustache. It wasn't like they'd lied to him. He wasn't exactly lying to Schuldig either.

"We'd like to put you forward as a potential advisor to Queen Victoria," Brad told him. "Of course, there's no guarantee you'll be chosen. It could be Karim, Dee or even myself."

Karim broke in. "We need to field as many candidates as possible in order to ensure one of us gets in, and we truly missed the boat with Prince Albert and John Brown. Never again. Her Majesty is not fickle. She selects the brightest and the most fascinating men to stay with her until separated by death--"

Brad nodded. "All of us were chosen for our different appeals. In Dee, for example, you'll see a trusted political adviser, someone used to the ins and outs of the royal court--"

"I _told_ you, I've never been a member of the royal court!" blustered Dee.

"Of course not." Karim smiled in a deceptively peaceful manner. "And we also need someone like me."

Brad studied Schuldig's face. He'd lit up when Karim had said they were looking for bright and interesting people, then quickly hid it.

"We must hurry to the secret meeting point now," Dee said, in a voice that was trying too hard to sound casual. "Will you partake, Schuldig?"

"Absolutely!" enthused Schuldig.

Dee's face transformed into one of pity. "I'm terribly sorry. How rash of me! You haven't been inducted yet. What I just suggested was quite, _quite_ impossible."

He turned to leave, and Karim was soon beside him, walking in step. Brad and Schuldig watched the pair retreat into the darkest corner of the room, just behind the generator, then vanish.

Eszet's ritual hall had not been prepared and the ceremonial robes were still due for their weekly clean, so Brad could see why Dee had led Schuldig on and then refused, but he wished that somehow -- somehow! -- they could have just inducted him into the organisation the moment he'd agreed.

"Mo' whisky?" slurred Schuldig once they were out of earshot.

***

Brad knew that there was some skill involved in drinking whilst staying upright. Having never tried alcohol before, he'd naturally assumed he'd be quite good at it. Unfortunately, it required a stronger constitution than the mere dodging of bullets and electrical rays for which he'd been trained.

He was dizzy.

Schuldig led him to a stone building on the outskirts of London. A light, perhaps from a number of candles, lit up the inside. It flared through a large arched window and sent fragments of rainbow light across the grass.

"Tally ho," said Brad, looking up at the tall spire. He fell to his knees and, as he did so, grabbed a tablet-shaped stone to hug it. With a drunk's attention to tiny details in his surroundings, he followed the shards of golden light until they led his eyes to an airship resting on the lawn.

The heaviness in his eyes vanished. How had he not seen this before?

Ropes ladders hung like vines from the partially-inflated canvas balloon. The mahogany and brass cabin had been pushed at an angle into the ground, leaving a trail of dirt behind it. From the back of the cabin jutted two blackened funnels, presumably leading to the engine.

Schuldig sniffed the air. "Smoke's thick tonight. I'll have to turn on the filters."

"Yeah..."

Just like his memories of the cab ride there, Brad would not remember his first, unstable steps towards the ship, nor falling asleep on its wooden floor. Nevertheless, he slowly came round from where he laid sprawled next to Schuldig's bed and his eyes adjusted to the gloom.

In converse to the norm, Schuldig had wrapped himself around a winter blanket and exposed himself all the way from his shoulder blades down to the backs of his thighs. A weak light from the control panel etched out every muscle contour in gold.

The airship rasped and exhaled in short intervals and Brad shivered under a tangle of blankets that had been dumped upon him. His stomach lurched and he shifted uncomfortably, not wanting to commit to waking up fully.

He shared a dormitory with forty other boys in Rosenkreuz, but in the coldness of the night and backed by the warm sighs of the filtering system, Schuldig seemed to possess an unearthly beauty.

And Brad's mission was to wreck his life.


End file.
